


Don't Speak

by mrs_leary (julie)



Category: Merlin (TV) RPF
Genre: M/M, Mistaken Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-01
Updated: 2011-09-01
Packaged: 2017-10-23 08:23:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/248223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julie/pseuds/mrs_leary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unexpected things happen one intoxicating night in a tiny French village… (Well, maybe not so unexpected really, when you know it's a Mrs L fic!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Speak

♦

It was an odd group of them who’d come out for dinner at a place in a tiny village near Pierrefonds. It was an odd group, full of both obvious and unexpected configurations, and to be honest Bradley felt a bit left out. But he couldn’t head off back to the hotel, whether in a huff or not, cos he was relying on a lift back to town, and even if it had been walking distance, they were deep in the forest and he just had no sense of direction whatsoever. Meanwhile, as they reached the dessert and coffee (or just more wine, thank you) stage of the evening, everyone else was happy in their own little groups. Angel was talking with Rupert, who possessed (she had loftily informed Bradley) the essential characteristic in a male of maturity. Katie and Tony were in cahoots, giggling together over some dastardly plan. The directors of various designations were well into some kind of drinking game which it was far too late to join. The small motley group of French crew and extras were gathered together talking loudly about who knew what. And Colin – Colin was the only one to break ranks, damn him. He was communicating animatedly and to apparently riveting effect with one of the extras – neither of them able to speak the other’s language beyond a _oui_ and a _s’il vous plait_ – and yet they were both bright–eyed and intrigued, and focussed wholly each on the other. The extra’s golden–brown hair caught the glow of the candlelight as he bent his head in next to Colin’s dark mop, a willing smile energising his face so that he was almost as handsome as the show’s leading man.

Almost.

Bradley turned away with the memory of his chocolate gateau turning sour in his mouth, and he glanced again around the various people gathered at their long table – but other than a lone waiter loitering with Gallic insouciance in the dimmest corner of the room, everyone was involved and happy, and Bradley wasn’t crass enough to interrupt and impose himself where he wasn’t needed. He sighed, and instead wandered out through the French windows (wondering vaguely if they even called them that in France) to the patio that ran along the back of the old building, and then cast his gaze over the garden that stretched down towards the mysteries of the forest.

The night air was full of crisp warm scents, from the garden, from the countryside. Even the air was different in France. Invigorating. It smelt fresh and clear and yet soft, like… herbs. Well, maybe that was due to the bed of plants that ran along the edge of the patio; there was a two–foot drop without a railing, and then a glorious bright tangle of plants, before grass swept smoothly down under the moonlight until it ran in under the towering dark shelter of the forest that grew from Compiegne to Villers–Cotterêts and maybe most of the way to Paris…

Maybe.

He wished Colin would hurry up and be done talking with that French guy.

Bradley stood at the edge of the patio for a while, hands stuffed in his jeans pockets, rocking back and forth from the balls of his feet to his heels and back again, absently stretching out his calves. The night was quiet, but for the oddly remote tide of good cheer from the open door behind him. He wandered further along the side of the building, wondering if it had been an old farmhouse, or if it had been something else converted. Maybe it had just been an old barn. It looked as if there were a small hotel in another wing, but the windows and doorways he wandered past were shuttered, looking almost abandoned, and the walls were surprisingly irregular. About halfway along there was a pergola spanning the width of the patio, and grown over with vines of some kind, which was nice enough. But Bradley couldn’t get very interested in the building, which all seemed a bit random, not to mention deserted.

Well, not entirely deserted, because suddenly there were steady footfalls from behind him – and despite Bradley’s earlier wish for company, his instinct now was to avoid this intruder. He swung about and backed into one of the alcoves, shadowed by an edge of brickwork and enveloped by a tumble of vines. And he waited, breath shallow. Silent.

A moment lengthened as the footfalls came closer – and then they paused at just the wrong place, faltered as they came level with Bradley’s hiding place.

It was Colin’s French friend.

But after a swift piercing glance, the guy swerved away and continued on at his previous pace, or maybe a little faster, as if Bradley had scared him off. If he’d even been seen. Bradley shrugged, and stayed there, shoulders firm against the wall. He’d go find Colin, then, in a minute. Let Colin feel at a loss for a moment or two. Bradley needn’t rush. It wasn’t as if Colin didn’t know that Bradley was always there for him whenever Colin wanted; it’d be a wonder if Colin didn’t take him completely for granted by now.

Footfalls again – and it wasn’t the French extra coming back, cos they were hurrying along from the restaurant door in a strange delayed echo. Bradley waited, breathless, for he knew not what.

Colin.

Of course it was Colin. Again the pause at just the wrong place, a swift piercing glance, and then –

But then Colin swerved in towards him, was suddenly striding right up to him – and didn’t stop, didn’t pull up, Colin was _right there_ in Bradley’s space – then pressing up against Bradley, hot and lithe and strong against him, as if wanting a hug, as if _demanding_ a hug – and Bradley’s arms came up instinctively to encompass his friend’s shoulders even while he gasped ‘Oof!’ – his mind dazedly struggling to catch up.

‘Don’t speak,’ begged Colin, tone half laughing and half desperate. ‘Oh God, I’m sorry, I’m sorry – _je suis d_ _é_ _sol_ _é_ – I’m –’

Then a groan tore out of him, and Colin was pressing closer still – his hands flat against Bradley’s chest as if he’d push himself away again any moment, but the rest of him pressing close – his mouth on Bradley’s –

 _God._

Colin’s mouth on Bradley’s, another groan rumbling through him, and then Colin was eagerly kissing him, kissing, and stunned Bradley found himself responding – a man’s mouth on his own for the first time, and he found that he didn’t mind at all, he didn’t mind, actually he _liked_ it, and instinctively he clutched Colin up tighter – all of Colin’s slender strength caught up tight in Bradley’s arms.

‘Oh God,’ Colin muttered, ‘ _mon Dieu_ ,’ as he broke away – but no, only breaking the kiss, the rest of him was there as close as ever, his forehead against Bradley’s, rolling back and forth almost in despair, but still that half laughing tone in his voice. ‘I’m sorry, _God_ , I’m using you, but I can’t help myself –’

Bradley drew breath –

‘No, don’t speak. Oh please. I’m the most Godforsaken bastard, but _please_ just let me pretend.’

The shape of it all was beginning to make sense now, and what did it matter if Colin was with the French guy or with Bradley, if he was thinking about someone else? Except that it did matter, of course it did.

Bradley cursed himself for excessive scrupulosity, even as he drew breath again – but then Colin’s mouth was on his, and Colin’s hands were dragging lower down Bradley’s pecs and ribs and stomach – and they were both willing and eager, weren’t they, even if confused – and Bradley had already been swept too far along in the needy passion to argue further – cos then Colin’s hands were fumbling at Bradley’s belt and jeans, were pushing in, down – and Bradley gasped into the kiss as he was taken in hand, more confidently than anyone else had ever touched him, and with immediate effect. He gasped again, and Colin’s mouth trailed damply down Bradley’s cheek and jaw to settle in hungrily at his throat, Bradley somehow wrapped the man up closer still, night air coolly potent in his lungs as he gulped deep –

And then he was coming already, pouring forth as if – well, it _had_ been weeks – and Colin was murmuring appreciatively and wriggling happily in his embrace, panting, ‘Yes, yes oh please, _merci_ , oh God you’re perfect, you’re just gorgeous…’

Once Bradley was done, and standing weak–kneed, propped hot and heavy against the wall, Colin’s hands finally withdrew, were finally urgent at his own jeans – which wasn’t as easy as it might have been, cos he was wearing fitted jeans for once – and before he was even unzipped he had taken one of Bradley’s hands in his, dragging it close – and Bradley wanted to, God, he actually _really_ wanted to – to touch – but no it wasn’t fair, was it – he had to say –

So he choked out, ‘Col –’

And after a brief fumbling moment there was stunned silence, stunned stillness.

‘Colin –’

A hoarse whisper: ‘Bradley…?’

‘Yes. Yes. Please, I –’

‘Oh _Christ!_ ’

And then Colin was backing away, and Bradley was cold without his friend in his arms – cold and damp and dishevelled and _wanting_  –

Bradley reached out a hand.

But Colin was backing away, and his face now – the moonlight suddenly drenched him, and he looked appalled. ‘I thought you were –’

‘I know. I know. I get it. But I don’t mind, I –’

‘ _You_ don’t mind…?’

Colin took another step away – one more and he’d be arse–over in the garden, and knowing Colin he’d break something precious. So Bradley stepped forward, and despite Colin’s reluctance Bradley grabbed his wrist in one hand.

But anyway, once he realised then Colin stopped. ‘You don’t mind,’ he repeated, dazed.

Something horrible occurred to Bradley. ‘You do, huh? You mind. I thought you were thinking of someone else. But you wanted that guy? The French guy?’

‘No.’ Colin grimaced. ‘Well, you know. Not as such. Poor sod. I’m a right bas–’

‘Shut up; you’re not.’ Bradley kept hold of that wrist, tried experimentally to tug him back again.

Colin stumbled forward a step. ‘D’you mean – you don’t mind? You _wanted_ this?’

‘Didn’t know until it happened. But, yeah. Now I want – If you – I mean, if you want –’

‘Yeah,’ Colin breathed. He stepped closer again, carefully. As if Bradley might vanish. ‘Yes, I want.’

Bradley backed away with Colin following; propped himself against the wall, tugged Colin near and gathered him up. Tilted his head in, and like a miracle Colin’s mouth was there again, his kiss wistful now, even a little – tender.

And slowly, slowly now Colin was bringing Bradley’s hand down, pushing it down into his jeans already undone – and Bradley was pushing down for himself, reaching to wrap his hand around another man’s cock, fumbling to find the right purposeful angle – And of course he’d touched Colin before, he’d touched Colin’s flesh in blokey ways, innocent ways, but this was beyond intimate, Colin’s cock in his hand, so hard and solid but the skin delicate, all his vulnerabilities and sensitivities entrusted to Bradley – and Colin’s breath hissed through his teeth at Bradley’s touch, and he was so hard _so hard_ it was as if Bradley didn’t even need to be very good at this, the slightest movement might send him over. ‘ _Fuck_ , Bradley,’ Colin muttered.

‘Yeah,’ Bradley murmured encouragingly. ‘Yeah, come on, Col…’

Another kiss, snatches and smatters of kisses peppering over his face, as Bradley firmed up his grip, started a tentative tug. Colin groaned, fell in closer against Bradley, moaned in what sounded like surrender.

But then – then, just as Bradley thought he was gonna be able to do this, he wasn’t gonna stuff it up – then Colin pulled away, dropped a hand to Bradley’s wrist to force him to pause. ‘Wait –’

‘What for?’ Bradley complained. God, Colin was so – they were _both_ so – right on the edge. ‘ _Why?_ ’

Colin’s hands grabbing at him, clutching hard into fists with cloth or flesh caught up, but not as if holding Bradley close, only grasping for self–control. ‘Bradley. I was thinking of _you_. That – that poor guy. I think he got it. That I wasn’t really thinking of him, I mean. But I was thinking of _you_. So if you don’t wanna – I mean, if that’s too much –’

‘Stop,’ said Bradley, leaning his forehead in against Colin’s. Rolling it back and forth in what felt like anguish. ‘Stop. I mean, stop talking. Come back here. I wanna –’

‘Do you?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, I mean – now I’m thinking of you, too, right?’

‘Yeah?’ Colin breathed in disbelief.

‘Yeah,’ said Bradley. ‘So –’

‘So,’ Colin agreed.

And at last he stepped back in against Bradley, pressed in close, and moments later he was twisting and groaning in Bradley’s arms as he came, the spunk pouring out of him as if it had been months. Years.

And a while later they were still there, pressed close and warm and heavy together in an alcove along a random brick wall, in a gorgeous night full of mystery, in a tiny village somewhere lost in a French forest…

‘So,’ said Bradley, sure of himself now. Absolutely sure.

‘So,’ Colin concluded. And he wriggled deeper still into Bradley’s embrace.

♦


End file.
